


An Arbitrary Anthology

by Sans_Virtuosity



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi, Tumblr Prompts, various pairings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sans_Virtuosity/pseuds/Sans_Virtuosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Tumblr prompts I've received and filled recently. Adding it here for posterity.<br/>Various pairings within the Dragon Age universe. A constant work-in-progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt: Capernoited

**Author's Note:**

> A request from a very close friend, asking for his Adaar and a tipsy Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this long before Inquisition came out, and it's pretty obvious looking back on it. Hah.

  “So, why do they call you ‘Bone-Riser’?” Dorian asked, halfway through his second mug of ale. The stuff was becoming more palatable with each sip, and Dorian felt emboldened by the discovery. His qunari conversation partner just looked up from his own tankard and smirked, as though it were obvious. When it was clear that his fellow mage just wasn’t getting it, he sighed and crossed his arms on the table.

   “Come on,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “ _Bone-Riser_. You’d have had to be raised underground not to catch that.” From the table next to them, Varric lifted his mug in salute, and Adaar returned the gesture. “You know, because I’m… well… _gifted_ , you could say.”

   “Your Eminence?” Dorian washed away his growing impatience with a swig of ale. “I don’t follow.”

   Adaar chuckled, and slid his arm around Dorian’s. “Got a skeleton in the closet that needs dusting, my friend?” Dorian’s face flushed. A gentle warmth spread throughout Adaar’s arms at the sight. “There are two reasons why I choose to call myself Bone-Riser,” he brushed his fingers along the back of Dorian’s neck. “and you’ve already heard accounts of my skills in battle. That’s one.”

   Dorian coughed, his ears turning pink with embarrassment. Of _course_ it was the necromancy. He should’ve caught that from the beginning.

   “And the other,” Adaar continued, fingertips wandering along the nobleman’s collarbone. “you’ll just have to experience for yourself.”

   It was the ale, Dorian decided, that made that sound almost like an _invitation_.

 

 


	2. Prompt: Quidnunc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original request was Cole/Solas, but it somehow turned into Solas+Cole+Lavellan.
> 
> Edit: I WROTE THIS WAY BEFORE WE HAD ANYTHING ON SOLAS, AND OH MY GOD I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG I AM SO SORRY. I cannot stop laughing at this.

   There were perks to being a part of the Inquisition: the pay was good, and the company even better. But nothing meant more to Solas than the late afternoon trips that the Inquisitor planned, each leading to the discovery of new materials, texts, and other forgotten treasures. After a few weeks of tree-climbing, river-fording, and cave-delving, Solas was given the position of advance guard. Along with Cole, he would scope out areas for artifacts of interest or potential dangers, and report them to Inquisitor Lavellan herself, who was usually not too far behind.

   Today it was a cave system deep in the Dales. There were large rooms built into rock face in intervals, and the caves themselves were held up by intricately-carved wooden supports. Definitely Dalish design, but no signs of life were evident. The rooms were cleared out entirely, save a few clay pots filled with an poignant, unidentifiable substance. Solas often found himself imagining what terrible situations may have drove the inhabitants to flee their underground fortress.

   Emerging from one of the longer tunnels, Cole and Solas found themselves in a large chamber. The torches they carried barely cut into the darkness in front of them. From what Solas could see, the walls appeared to curve upwards into a dome, and the stone was impressively smooth. The veil was thin here, and it seemed it was affecting his companion. Cole’s eyes darted around the room, searching.

  “It’s dark in here.” he stated plainly.

   “It’s a cave, Cole.”

   “I know that,” he lowered his eyes and lead on into the darkness. “It’s just so… strange now, having been in the light for so long.”

   Solas opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but before the words could form, their torches revealed a massive stone carving that sat in what must’ve been the center of the domed room.

   “Wait.” Solas put his hand out, stopping Cole dead in his tracks. “What’s this? A statue?”

   Solas lifted his torch into the air to get a better view. Flames spilled over a statue of a young elven woman, holding a brazier before her, in almost a parody of Chantry symbolism. The woman’s hair was fashioned from dragonbone of the deepest red he’d ever seen.

   “She looks like the inquisitor.” Cole said, his eyes wide.

   “She certainly does. Look here,” Solas moved closer to the imposing statue, illuminating small etchings in the base. “inscriptions! I can’t for the life of me figure them out, though. Definitely written language.”

   From behind them, a figure carrying a torch of their own came into the room. As they came closer, Cole noted the telltale red of their leader’s hair, and decided not to disrupt Solas as he poked around the stone idol. Lavellan was no danger.

   “Are you guys alright? It’s not like you to lag behind. Did you find somet-” her eyes darted up and down the length of the statue. “Woah.”

   Solas turned to the slight elven woman and clapped his hands together. “Inquisitor. Might you know the likeness this statue was modeled upon?” He handed his torch to Cole, who took it without word, and lead the Inquisitor to the base. “And this,” he pointed to the inscriptions. “does that mean anything to you?”

   Without missing a beat, she nodded, and licked her lips. Solas noticed they looked a little chapped. He was certain a bit of beeswax would fix that right up.

   “The People call her Sylaise.” she said, pulling her hair back into a hasty bun and away from the flames of the torch.

   “The goddess of the Hearth.”

   “Exactly so. And this…” she ran a finger over the odd swooping text. “is this elvish? Could you replicate it?”

   Solas rocked on the balls of his feet. The excitement was almost too much to bear. “I believe so. Do you know what it says?”

   “I soon will.”

   Solas retrieved the rabbitskin journal from his satchel and began to copy the markings as best he could while the Inquisitor held the torch. Meanwhile, Cole walked around the entirety of the statue.

   On his second pass, he stopped on the side opposite Solas and called out, “Hey, look. The marking’s here match Lavellan’s vallaslin.”

  Satisfied with his new acquisition, Solas folded the journal and tucked it away into his pouch once again. He and the Inquisitor soon joined Cole, who had indeed found a diagram that flawlessly depicted the same vallaslin that Lavellan bore. She looked shocked by the discovery. “It was not intentional?” Solas asked. Surely she was aware she bore the Hearthkeeper’s blessing?

   She flushed and averted her gaze. “There is much our people have forgotten.” Solas balked at the use of the word ‘our’. He was no Dalish. He never would be. She knew that. “I only wish to restore what I can.”

   “As do I, Inquisitor.”

   “I’ll send for a team to see if they can bring this back to the keep for further inspection. Return as soon as you’re satisfied here.” she nodded to Solas and Cole in turn, and spun on her heels to leave the cavern, pleased by her new discovery.

   “I’ll keep writing.”

   Solas was unaware of how long he spent copying writings and symbols into his notebook, but he was sure the ache in his back and the one remaining torch was indicative of at least a few hours. Solas shot Cole an apologetic smile, and the two began to make their long trek back to camp.

   “You like her.” Cole softly smiled.

   “Of course I do. She’s our leader.”

   Cole handed Solas the remains of his torch. “I like her too.”


	3. Librarian, 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Librarian meme on Tumblr.  
> The line I got was, “Well, there’s no harm in intentions, is there?” from Mercedes Lackey's The Serpent's Shadow.
> 
> Hawke and Varric drink and gossip about Hawke's love life.

* * *

 

 

“Hawke, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; I don’t think pursuing Broody is a good idea. The man’s idea of a good time is tearing the hearts out of Tevinters. That’s not someone I’d share a candlelit dinner and a walk on the beach with.” Varric took a hearty gulp of ale, and fixed his eyes on her. “You deserve someone-” he waved his hand around in the air, searching for the right word. “-softer.”

Hawke heartily laughed and slapped her hand down hard on the table, causing a few of the other Hanged Man patrons to look her way. “Soft? Varric, yesterday I broke a man’s _jaw_ because he tried to follow Merrill home. I don’t do _soft_.”

The dwarf shrugged and downed the rest of his ale. From across the room, Corff caught his eye and the two exchanged an indecipherable gesture that lead to another round appearing at the table. If Hawke were being honest, she’d admit that she probably had enough for one night. Walking all the way back to Hightown alone at night is dangerous, sober or no, and she’d prefer to have her wits about her. But she also knew that Varric would let her pass out in his room if she needed to, and on that comforting thought, she resigned to drinking as much as her friend was willing to pay for.

“I’m just saying,” Varric continued, “I don’t know how far you intend to go, and honestly, I really don’t want to. But he’s got baggage, there’s no denying that.”

“I _intend_ to-” she paused. What did she intend to do? How far did she intend to go? She hadn’t really thought about it in such serious terms. All she knew was that the thought of Fenris leaving Kirkwall scared her more than she cared to admit. “Well, there’s no harm in intentions, is there? It’s whatever comes after, right? And that’s something I’ll deal with when I get there.”

“You always were the pragmatist, Hawke.”

“I’d like to think so.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
